


Every Artist Needs A Muse

by MelodyoftheVoid



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Blood As Paint, Blood and Injury, Competent Zim (Invader Zim), Confused Dib (Invader Zim), Gen, Hipsters, Not mentioned directly but implied, Smart Zim (Invader Zim), ZADE, ZADF, artist Zim, not rn, they could be friends but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyoftheVoid/pseuds/MelodyoftheVoid
Summary: Zim requires Dib’s... assistance with a personal project.
Relationships: Dib & Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	Every Artist Needs A Muse

Dib  _ always _ knew when someone was watching him. 

To be fair, most people weren’t exactly subtle about gawking at the ‘crazy kid’ whenever he went on a tangent or tried to speak up. No, more specifically, Dib was particularly good at telling when someone was hunting him. 

Small shifts in the corners of his vision, a palpable tension in the air, an ever present shadow looming, he knew it all too well. After all he’d been hunted just as often as he’d been the hunter. Both ends of the predator/prey relationship familiar to the paranormal enthusiast. 

Back to the present situation, Dib did his best to keep his posture relaxed, best to not let his pursuer know that he was aware of them. Panicking would do him no good. Given that he wasn’t in the woods, he could narrow who his tail was to a few possible suspects. 

The prime being Zim.

Of course. 

The teen muttered under his breath as he tried to calculate a possible route that wouldn’t end with him either getting arrested for causing a public disturbance again or with him running himself ragged across the whole neighborhood. Humans were persistence hunters but he was fairly certain Irkens didn’t need sleep. 

Dib ducked into a small art studio, some new pop up that he’d heard of in passing, hoping that the limited space and the few people nearby would prevent things from escalating too far. Although given the handful of times that he’d nearly been abducted in broad daylight, and the one time  _ Zim _ of all beings was pulled from their class by aliens, that was a pipe dream at best. 

Regardless, the smell of oil and canvas filled the air of the dimly lit space, various passers by admiring the assorted works lining the walls. Dib joined them in their admiration of the paintings on the walls of the gallery. He had to say, the artist was quite good. Despite the minimalist style used, the emotion and passion was clear, frustration at a system that didn’t understand them, a yearning to be heard. To be seen. 

Though there was something… awfully familiar about the works as well. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was the colors, one specific color used across all of the pieces, that stood out. A bright fiery magenta. It was used to portray everything from fire to blood and despite the fact it was pink, the effect was clear. 

Where had he seen that color before? 

The sound of a throat obnoxiously clearing made Dib jump. He turned to apologize to whoever wanted to take his place but stopped mid-sentence. 

There, standing with an impish grin on his face, was Zim. But not in his usual outfit, not entirely. The alien was wearing a pair of square glasses, clearly taped to the side of his face. An obnoxious purple scarf with a matching hat made the invader’s uniform almost look like an intentional fashion choice. Albeit a very  _ very _ obnoxious one. 

In short, he looked like a hipster. 

“Zim,” Dib made sure to keep his voice to a low hiss, hoping to defuse or untangle this situation, “so you were following me.”

The Invader tsk’d lightly, gesturing to a small plaque by the painting. It read “ _ **Conquest and Victory : Shimvader Shim**_.” Oh.  _ That’s  _ where he knew that color. 

“Call me by my preferred title. Zim is an invader,  _ I _ am an artist!” 

Oh god he was even acting like a pretentious hipster too. 

“Oookay. But you were following me then, weren’t you? Is it for one of your plots? Is this your latest scheme?”

“Clever as always Dib-thing, but not that clever. Shim was not following you for those reasons. No. Shim was struck with inspiration and I need you as my creative muse.” 

Dib genuinely had no response to that. The fact that A: Zim had an alternate identity that he took this seriously and B: Zim was making art,  _ good art _ , and wanted to involve him was just not computing. 

Zim on the other hand took the human’s stunned silence as agreement, and took Dib’s hand, dragging him back into a spacious studio room. Half finished canvases littered one side, all haphazardly strewn about as if thrown. On the other, a blank sheet, and a stool. 

It looked like a regular stool. Suspicious. 

“It is a perfectly normal stool you worm baby. Now, sit. Shim will get started.” 

Dib glowered at the invader, but complied. He couldn’t help the hesitant curiosity in why Zim, or Shim as he was insisting, wanted to paint him. It was most definitely for something sinister yet the Irken’s energy was focused on selecting paints from a wall of tubes. 

“So… what do you need me to do?” 

“Just sit and be angry with me. I want to capture your,” Shim struck a pose, turning his head to the side and throwing up a hand, “determination. The way you never give up.”

“Was that a compliment you lizard?”

Shim didn’t respond, just pulled out a palette and began to swipe a brush across the cloth. Time slowed and stretched as Dib’s guard never lowered, the tension palpable. Yet Shim continued to paint in silence, asking Dib to pose or make a face every once in a while before returning to his work. Seeing the invader this focused and quiet sent chills up the human’s spine. Did he put this much effort into all of his plots? Or was this… different somehow?

What would he be capable of were he this dedicated and vigilant, not so prone to irrationality? 

What would Dib be fighting then?

In all honesty he was probably putting way too much thought into this. This was either a ploy, or a hobby. It didn’t go further than that. 

“Now,” Shim’s voice echoed in the chamber causing Dib to jump, “feast your measly human eyes upon the works of SHIM!” 

Dib glanced up and was taken aback. He expected the large circle in the center of it, how could he not, but it didn’t really bother Dib as much as it normally did. The circle was black with swirls of deep blues, reminding him of the ocean. It gave an illusion of depth, of mystery. But on top of the ocean was a streak of gold, blazing a trail into the unknown. 

“Wow, this is… really good! I am impressed. I almost thought that you were going to… I don’t know, do something evil.” 

“Psh, Shim’s work does not require schemes. I did require you assistance for my- ah what’s the word? Magma opium?” 

“M-magnum opus?”

Shim snapped his fingers, “Yes yes, that’s what I said. Now. I need just one more thing from you.”

Dib’s brief amusement at Shim’s verbal slip up faded into anxious worry. There was something in his tone that felt wrong. Like Hannibal asking if he could make you dinner. Wait, would Zim be comparable to Hannibal because he’d eaten human organs before? 

He was an alien. So technically… ok focus Dib. 

“What… do you need exactly?” 

“Not much, just one more ingredient for my companion piece. After all, while I do admire your fight, I do intend on being the victor in the end. And I want something to commemorate the occasion.” 

Dib barely was able to dodge the first blow from Shim, a feral grin stretched across the invader’s face, this was more what he was used to, but there was still that same focus and intensity, so unlike their previous battles. 

A PAK leg dug into his arm, red hot pain flaring through Dib’s body. Crimson blood splattered onto the slate floor. He hadn’t even seen the metal flash and yet it had landed all the same. He screamed as the razor point pulled away, reigniting that fire. 

Gritting his teeth, Dib lunged for Shim, landing a blow on the Irken’s chin. For his efforts he was rewarded with a kick to the ribs, knocking the air out of him. A flurry of blows followed, blacking out his vision. He could taste the tang of iron in the back of his throat. 

Was this where it ended?

Then all at once it stopped.

“That’s all I needed, thank you.”

His lungs heaved with effort, trying to supply oxygen even as Dib’s ribs screamed in protest. The gash on his arm still bled, though the flow had slowed. Dib staggered to his feet, unsure whether to flee for good or fight once more. 

“What?”

“I said that’s all human, I have what I need for the companion piece. Return home. Although… if I’m unsatisfied with how this turns out,” Shim grinned wild, eyes predatory, “I’m more than happy to retry making it. The artistic process is imperfect.”

“N-no- no I’ll leave you to your… work.”

“Thank you.” 

As Dib limped away, he still felt the ever present stare of Shim at his back. Dib knew what it felt like to be the hunter. He’d assumed one day that he would end up on top, that in the end he’d triumph. 

If this was what Zim was truly like though…

He may have always been the prey. 

**Author's Note:**

> A request made by the ever lovely CDarkheartZero. There was not enough Shim content and I was happy to oblige with creating some! Competent and scary Zim is fun. What can I say.


End file.
